


Don't Forget the Dog

by flitterflutterfly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Fix-It, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 07:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2220072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitterflutterfly/pseuds/flitterflutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dumbledore's plans for the Dursleys go awry, he is forced to give young Harry to Kingsley Shacklebolt to raise. Little did he know how this change would mess up <i>everything</i>.</p><p>(Or, Dumbledore is a manipulative bastard, Kingsley is an awesome parent, and Sirius just wants a happy family.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Forget the Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Rough Trade Harry Potter oneshot challenge, July 2014.

Albus picked up a lemon drop and rolled it between his wrinkled fingers. He considered the bright yellow candy for a moment. He was ever–so-much a fan of sour things, but right now even the word sour brought to mind the sour woman he wanted nothing more than to curse. He hated it when pawns got uppity and Petunia Dursley had done that and more.

Fawkes trilled from his perch and Albus glared. “This is all your fault, you know,” he muttered. “If you could just be a little more lenient…”

Fawkes turned his back on Albus and stuck up a tail feather. Albus sniffed.

He’d had everything planned out. Petunia’s hatred of magic was quite known to him, as was her husband’s reactions to anything outside of _normal_. All he would have had to do was give them a push in the right direction. Leaving baby Harry on their doorstep in the middle of the night with nothing more than a rude letter—equally threatening and mysterious—would ensure the couple took all their fear and hatred out on the boy. Little Harry Potter was very magically powerful, and without loving support his accidental magic would lash out, only feeding the negative cycle.

By the time Harry learned of Hogwarts, for surely the magic-hating Dursleys wouldn’t tell him anything, he’d feel so indebted to the wizarding world that he wouldn’t hesitate to risk his life for Albus.

Apparently, it wasn’t to be. Just as Albus had been about to leave Harry on the doorstep, Petunia—awoken by Hagrid’s wailing no doubt—had opened the door and screeched bloody murder at them. Albus had tried to explain the situation in a way that would still convince her to do as he wanted, but she’d had none of it.

If only Fawkes, his insufferably Light familiar, would let him cast a couple of the Darker curses, just simple ones for the Greater Good, without breaking their bond… but alas the phoenix was a stubborn chicken. Albus cursed that he had to keep his hold on the bird to maintain his image, else he would’ve made a phoenix stew long ago. Still, he’d been unable to _persuade_ Petunia with either words or some mind controlling spells and so he was left in an unfortunate pickle.

Ugh, pickles. They were also sour, like that wretched woman and Albus’ mood. He wrinkled his nose and dropped the lemon drop back in the bowl.

Minerva, of course, hadn’t hesitated in saying “I told you so, Albus,” before swooping in to pick young Harry up and take him back to the castle. He’d let her keep him for now, but obviously he couldn’t have her get too attached. Minerva was firmly on his side, but she was headstrong and felt that how long they’d known each other gave her privileges in telling him when he was wrong. Oh how he wished there were a way he could reprimand her, but he’d let it go too long and he was stuck now listening to her insufferable tone.

Albus sighed. At the very least, one thing had gone right. Sirius Black had run after Pettigrew and gotten himself locked in Azkaban, just as Albus had intended when he’d instructed Hagrid to let no one other than Albus himself take young Harry that night.

Perhaps he felt a little guilt at sentencing an innocent to that dreadful prison, but it was all for the Greater Good. Sirius Black would have raised Harry to be rebellious, a prankster, and possibly even a young Lord. None of those were useful to Albus. A little rebellion would be needed during Harry’s years at Hogwarts, perhaps, but only to show the boy that the only authority figure to be trusted was Albus. Sirius would steer Harry down a far more headstrong path, one Albus couldn’t have allowed.

Still, _someone_ needed to raise Harry. He considered doing it himself, but he hardly had the time to take care of a brat. Sure, he’d be most assured of Harry’s loyalty that way, but the annoyances outweighed that certainty. Albus was confident in his ability to maneuver one of his own to raise Harry right.

Hagrid would do it, but there was always the possibility he’d accidently kill the boy before he got old enough to fulfill his purpose. Arabella Figg was a possibility, a good one even, but without the blood wards a squib was no protection for the Boy-Who-Lived. That ruled out an orphanage, though that would have brought outrage on Albus’s head once people found out even if he could make sure Death Eaters weren’t aware of Harry’s location.

It had to be one of his fighters, but one of the young ones who were still easily moldable. Not Alastor Moody, he would train Harry from a young age and that was a problem. Harry needed to be gullible still when he went to Hogwarts, not a paranoid fighter. Andromeda and Ted Tonks, perhaps, but they already had a daughter. He didn’t want Harry to grow up with a sibling. The guardian figure would be easy to get rid of, but Albus was far too aware of the bond between siblings.

“Ah,” Albus said aloud as a person occurred to him.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was young, only a few years older than Harry’s parents had been, and a dedicated auror. He was a half-blood and therefore out of the pureblood politics. His pureblood mother was from the Congo, even, and had died a decade ago if Albus remembered correctly. His muggle father had followed her shortly after. Kingsley had no other close relatives, which meant there would be no adopted family to contend with. He’d only have to keep an eye on Kingsley’s behavior, give him some advice on raising a famous child like Harry. Kingsley was a no-nonsense sort of man. He could be convinced to keep Harry in the dark and unspoiled.

Kingsley too had never been very close with the Weasleys. So long as Harry didn’t become friends with young Ron—whom Albus was sure he could mold into being the kind of friend _he_ needed Harry to have—until Hogwarts, it would all work out.

Yes, he would convince Kingsley to keep Harry isolated and ignorant. It wouldn't be quite as good as the Dursleys, but it would work.

Albus plopped a lemon drop in his mouth, suddenly in a much better mood. He’d go visit Kingsley later that day and get it all arranged.

And then… well he’d already waited fifty years. What was another decade to see his plans bear their fruit?

 

 

“But Uncle Kingsy, I don’t wanna take a bath!”

“You should have thought of that before you got messy,” Kingsley replied, not even looking in Harry’s direction. He knew if allowed himself to be caught by the seven-year-old’s puppy dog eyes then he’d be screwed. “Just be glad I’m not making you clean up the living room too.”

“Yes, Uncle Kingsy,” Harry said, his pout clear in his voice. He trod down the hall toward his bathroom, shedding glitter as he went.

Kingsley sighed, surveying the living room of his modest two-bedroom cottage. The upholstery was covered in fairy dust, there was paint _on the ceiling_ ,and there wasn’t a single surface not sparkling with muggle glitter.

Sometimes, Kingsley wondered why in Merlin’s name he’d accepted his position as half-guardian, half-bodyguard to the young Boy-Who-Lived.

Then again, Kingsley mused as he used a couple charms to clean the sticky goo off the sofa, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret the joy the young boy had brought into his life.

It took no more than ten minutes to charm clean the living room. Kingsley left the pictures on the mantelpiece for last. Those he had to carefully wipe down with a rag, for using magic on a magical picture tended to interfere with their movement. Kingsley would hate to lose those precious memories stored in simple wood frames.

The first one he cleaned was an old picture from before Kingsley was given guardianship of Harry. It showed the newborn babe with his parents. Lily Potter gently rocked her child over and over while James smiled like the proud parent he’d been. That picture always brought a swell of bittersweet tears to Kingsley’s eyes, but he kept it on the mantelpiece for Harry’s sake.

As he placed that photo back, Kingsley wondered when the best time to tell Harry of his distressing amount of fame and the reason for it. Dumbledore had suggested waiting until Hogwarts, but while Dumbledore was a wise man, _he_ was not Harry’s guardian. Dumbledore didn't see the proof of Harry’s maturity, even at seven, like Kingsley did every day. 

Soon, Kingsley told himself as he moved onto the next photo. Harry had been asking to go to Diagon Alley, but Kingsley couldn’t take him without explaining why the boy would be stared at the entire time. Soon, he’d sit his little ward down and have that horrible conversation. It was only right.

The next photo was of three-year-old Harry sitting and giggling in Kingsley’s lap. That was the age when Harry still hadn’t been able to say ‘Kingsley’ well and so had taken to calling him ‘Kingsy’. Even though he was certainly old enough to say the name now, he’d never changed his manner of address. Kingsley didn’t mind. It felt special, that little nickname, like they were truly a family despite the circumstances.

The third photo was blank, at least until Kingsley cleaned it off and five-year-old Harry peered out from beyond the frame. That was the year he’d taken Harry to get his first set of glasses and the cute round frames sat halfway down his nose until he remembered to push them up. Kingsley smiled at the photo version of his ward and little Harry waved back.

The last photo was from the year before. Harry had asked to go the muggle zoo for his birthday and Kingsley had taken him. Here, Harry stood in front of one of the tanks in the reptile house, smiling at a large boa.

It was on that trip that Kingsley had learned of his ward’s ability. Despite Dumbledore’s strange look when he’d told him, which Kingsley had taken to mean Dumbledore was worried about Kingsley’s reaction—Kingsley did not share much of wizarding Britain’s prejudice against parselmouths. After all, his mother had befriended quite a few in their ancestral home deep in the Congo.

In fact, Kingsley had always found it strange how few snake-speakers there were in Britain when it was a widely respected gift, if still a little rare, in many parts of Asia and Africa. He’d heard of parselmouths being worshipped in Central America, even, though he had no idea the credence of those rumors.

Maybe he ought to get Harry a little garden snake for his next birthday. He wasn’t sure if Albus would make an exception and allow Harry to have the snake at Hogwarts with him once he turned eleven, but exceptions had been made before and if the snake was appropriately small and non-venomous… perhaps Kingsley would bring it up at their next tea.

Kingsley moved on to picking up the various things that had gotten out of place when Harry had decided to make the whole living room into his ‘fairy den’. He could just easily magic the fallen books and baubles back to their shelves, but his muggle father had imparted the wisdom of doing a couple things by hand to keep one’s body sharp. Kingsley would forever thank those lessons. Outside of just the habit of doing a few things manually around the house, they’d saved his life on auror missions—not many wizards did fitness training like Kingsley and his ability to fight hand-to-hand had served him well in the field.

Kingsley set a children’s novel back on the small bookshelf. Looking at it, he remembered the debacle a couple years ago of finding the first novel in a totally fantasized _Harry Potter_ series in Florish  & Blotts. He’d gone straight to his law-witch to make sure the company producing those books knew it was character infringement to publish anything about young Harry without his permission—and the only books he’d given permission to be published had been textbooks and other historical accounts of _that_ night.

Well, that had all been straightened out and Kingsley had even kept one of the ridiculous books for Harry to laugh over when he was older. Certainly, he’d been in stiches at the chapters depicting Harry fighting off a dragon when he knew all his boy did most of the day was play make pretend like most kids. The only dragons Harry fought were invisible ones, and truthfully Harry was the type of child to pretend befriending dragons instead of vanquishing them.

Yes, his ward was a sweet child. He dreaded that innocence fading, though he knew it would. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may be gone, but his supporters were still out there and looking. Already, Kingsley had apprehended a few zealots that had managed to track down his secure cottage, though the wards he had around the place had stopped them before they’d gotten any closer to Harry.

It scared him, knowing the enemies Harry had already made. All he could do was what any parent or guardian could—prepare his boy best he could.

Indeed, he would have to tell Harry the full story about his parents and the former war within the next year and then… well it wouldn’t hurt to set Harry up with a training regimen for hand-to-hand self defense. He would make it fun for the boy like his father had made it fun for him and he’d sleep better knowing Harry would at least be able to punch a Death Eater in the face properly. The pureblood fanatics wouldn’t know what hit them and that thought was enough to bring a smile back to Kingsley’s face.

“Uncle Kingsy?”

“Done with your bath, Harry?” Kingsley asked.

Harry nodded, hair wet and plastered to his skull like it never lay when dry. “I’m hungry. When’s dinner?”

“I was thinking we could go out tonight? Do you want to go see a muggle movie and eat at the cinema?”

“Yes!” Harry cheered and rushed back to his room to get changed into muggle clothing.

Kingsley chuckled, following at a more sedate pace.

 

 

It was another one of _those_ days. The ones where the relentless cold ache of the Dementors faded just a bit and the taunting replaced it. Sometimes, it was the guards who slung hateful phrases at him. Other days, it was a visitor or two.

The newly elected Minister of Magic came that day, with his ridiculous hat and usual sneer. Cornelius Fudge was as ugly as Sirius remembered and his words just as painful. Try as he did to ignore those hateful things, the spiteful sentences and ignorant babble, it was hard to drown out that irritating voice.

The worst part was… Fudge’s heavy-handed lecturing reminded Sirius too much of his mother. And once that association had been made, he was hard pressed not to hear her screeching superimposed over the Minister’s cruel words.

“Bet it just hurts, doesn’t it, Black?” Fudge was saying. “Your Master defeated by a mere babe, who’s living happy now among his fans. You and your fellows are locked here in prison while the reason for it is taking a stroll down Diagon Alley. My, what _shame_ you much feel.”

“Harry?” Sirius asked, perking up a bit.

Fudge laughed. “Yes, your dear little godson. Bet you dream about doing him in, but too bad! He’s safe in the hands of one of my top aurors, he is. Far away from the likes of you.”

“Which auror?” Sirius asked, feeling more alive than he had in a long time. “Which one is taking care of Harry?”

“Oh, that’s right, you used to be one of them, didn’t you? A little Black spy in our midst. Hmph. Well then you’ll know Kingsley Shacklebolt is far too good a duelist for any of your cohorts to get past,” Fudge suddenly looked sour, “despite his… unfortunate parentage.”

Sirius blinked and raised an eyebrow. “Are you referring to him being a halfblood?”

“What? No!” Fudge sputtered. “I’m not… I’m not like _you_. As if this country would elect a… pureblood-supporter into office.” He pulled at his collar a bit. Sirius wondered how this idiot _had_ gotten elected.

“Oh, so you’re referring to the color of his skin, then.” Sirius huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Well he, just, his mother being from the savage jungles as she was, that is, he is very well-educated for…” Fudge coughed. His guards stood in stoic silence even as he looked to them for aid. “Well, anyway, I see you’re being as uncooperative as usual! I’ll have to inform the warden to withhold your dinner today. Perhaps then you’ll be a little kinder.” He smirked cruelly, as if that would suddenly make Sirius fall to his knees and beg.

Sirius rolled his eyes. If only the idiot knew. It wasn't like the warden remembered to feed him most days anyway. He was lucky if he got a loaf of bread every three days and he’d learned to ration when he could. As much as he knew he’d die someday to pay for his sins, he couldn’t do that until that blasted rat was dead as well.

Fudge tossed the front page of the paper threw the bars in Sirius’s cage, in his usual manner, and then turned on his heel and left.

There, bold and big on the front page, was a picture of Harry. He wasn’t looking at the camera, though his guardian, the dark-skinned Kingsley Shacklebolt, was. Instead, Harry was smiling at something in the distance—perhaps the shop front of one of the stores in the Alley?—and tugging at Shacklebolt’s hand.

Harry had his mother’s bright green eyes, easy to see behind clean glasses, and his father’s unruly black hair. He wore casual kid’s robes and muggle sneakers. He looked just like Sirius would imagine him to.

“James. Lily.” Sirius swallowed back a sudden lump in his throat. “I failed you. I failed your son.”

Little Harry. He looked so happy, so innocent. Sirius had to smile, even as a darkening thought came over his mind. The article declared it the first time the Boy-Who-Lived had been seen in Diagon Alley, though everyone knew he’d been living with the auror since that incident with the false books.

There Harry was, out in the open with only a single man protecting him from the cruelty of life, from the Death Eaters still ready to snatch him, to torture him. From those who waited in the dark and schemed.

Shacklebolt was a good man, he remembered that, and a strong auror too, but no one other than Sirius knew the rat was out there. Wormtail had always been a tricky one, half the reason they’d accepted him into their group back in school.

Sirius wanted, _needed_ , to make sure his godson was safe.

That mantra was the only thing he thought about for the next few days. Soon after, he discovered that it was hardly a squeeze at all to fit through the bars in his dog form.

Indeed, that new conviction was all it took for him to escape.

 

 

Harry was like any other boy. Really, he was a fairly normal wizard child who hated the math and writing lessons his uncle forced upon him and who much preferred when he was given history lessons in the form of songs and tales. Despite having learned of his ridiculous amount of fame, and of the night his parents had died, Harry still thought mostly of the latest model of broom.

The trip his uncle had taken him to Diagon Alley had shaken him—once the excitement of the shops had worn off the gawking had been intimidating—but even a month later and he’d practically forgotten about it. After all, his uncle had assured him that the crowds wanting to catch a glimpse of him would die down by the time he shopped in the Alley for his school supplies in four years and hopefully he wouldn’t have to worry about it at all as a student at Hogwarts.

Currently, Harry was racing around the backyard with the new broom his uncle had bought him for his birthday. It was, unfortunately, equipped with safety charms that prevented him from going too high. He couldn't wait until he was older and those would be taken off. How would he ever be able to practice seeker feints and the like if he wasn't allowed to go at least higher than the top of the trees?

Harry did a large loop around the house to gain speed and then a small drop toward the ground. Just as he was about the pull up, he saw a large black dog standing at the property line.

Screaming a little, Harry tumbled off his broom face first. Luckily, the ground was only a few feet away and he came skidding to a stop with nothing more than a few bruises to show for it.

Sniffing a little, Harry picked up his glasses from where they’d fallen—glad they had anti-break charms—and placed them back on his nose.

The dog let out a low whine, pacing back and forth beyond the wards as if it wanted to come over and make sure Harry was okay. Harry stared at it mistrustfully for a moment, but after some study it became clear the dog _wasn’t_ a Grim. After all, all the pictures and stories of Grims described them as having glowing red eyes and really sharp claws and fangs.

This dog was just that, a dog. A really dirty and skinny one too, with visible ribs protruding from matted fur. Its tail wagged a bit as it saw Harry looking at it and it let its tongue roll out of its mouth.

“Hi,” Harry said softly. “You look really hungry.”

The dog barked and then dropped to its belly. It continued to wag its tail, giving Harry the biggest puppy eyes he’d ever seen.

Harry laughed. This dog wasn’t scary at all. In fact, ignoring the awful smell coming from it, it was kind of cute. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

He raced over to where his broom had fallen and set it back in the storage shed before running inside and grabbing the leftover hamburger from last night. Back out he went, slowing his steps only when he was a few feet from the ward line and the dog outside it.

“Here you go. I’m not sure if dogs like hamburgers, but it’s really good.” He pushed the plate over the boundary line. “I’d let you in, but my uncle says I’m not allowed to be keyed into the wards like that ‘til I’m eleven and get my own wand.”

The dog ate the hamburger in three large bites, its tail wagging even harder. Harry giggled. “Are you a stray?” he asked. “Only, it doesn't look like you have a collar and you don’t seem really healthy either.”

The dog barked again, almost as if it was answering Harry. Harry wished he could reach out and pet it, but his uncle would know if he passed the ward line and then he’d get in Trouble with a capital ‘T’.

“Do you have a name?” Harry wondered.

The dog cocked its head to the side and then lifted one large paw. Harry stared incomprehensibly, having no idea what that meant at all, and after a while the dog huffed and rolled on its belly as if to say it didn’t matter.

“Oh, so you’re a boy,” Harry said, seeing the dogs _private parts_. “Hey, if you don’t have a name, I can try to come up with something. How do you like… um… Grim?”

The dog gave him a _look_. Harry giggled. “Okay, that’s a little sad. How about Hallow, like the Deathly Hallows? No. Er, what about Night? Or Knight,” he laughed at his own pun. Obviously a dog wouldn’t get it though so he moved on. “Um, Fluffy? Fang? Furry? Spot? Oh wait, you don’t have a spot. Blackie? Paws?”

The dog made a snorting noise at that. Harry tapped his nose. “How about Snuffles?”

The dog shrugged, a very humanlike movement but an understandable one. Harry grinned. “Snuffles it is!”

Snuffles, the newly named dog, just let his tongue hang out in response.

“Harry?” His uncle call from inside. “Are you still out there?”

“Yes, Uncle Kingsy!”

His uncle came out a moment later. “Do you have any idea what happened to the hambur… _Harry_.”

Harry felt a stab of guilt run through him at earning that tone from his uncle, but it had been for a good cause! Surely his uncle would see that. “Uncle Kingsy, I found this dog! He’s super friendly, see!”

Snuffles wagged his tail as if to prove Harry’s point.

“Harry, you can’t just go feeding food to every stray animal you see.”

“But he was really hungry!”

“Human food can make animals sick, Harry. You may think you’re helping but you’d only be hurting the poor creature more.”

Harry gaped, feeling awful. “Oh no! Uncle Kingsy, did I poison him? Is he going to die?” He felt tears well up in his eyes. “Snuffles, are you feeling okay? Did that hamburger taste bad to you? Is your stomach hurting?”

“Snuffles?”

Snuffles woofed at him a few times as if to say he was fine, so Harry carefully wiped his tears and nodded. “I named him that cause he didn’t have a name, I don’t think. Uncle Kingsy, can I keep him? I promise he’ll be super neat in the house and I’ll clean up after all the messes he makes and everything!”

“You… Harry.” His uncle had that look on his face, the one that always showed up when Harry had done something particularly inspired. That, above anything, told Harry this was a good idea.

“ _Please_ ,” he used his own look, the wide-eyed one that got him out of a lot of trouble, and Snuffles copied him.

“Look, I can’t promise we’ll keep him, but we can at least give him a place to stay for the night. If he proves friendly like you say, then we’ll take him to the vet in town and see what they say.” His uncle wrinkled his nose and muttered, “After we give him a bath, that is.”

“Yes!” Harry cheered and Snuffles echoed him with a hearty bark. “Invited him in, Uncle Kingsy, come on!”

He noticed his uncle’s hand was on his wand, but thought nothing of it. Sure, he’d seen his uncle invite people into the property without the same tight grip or tense shoulders, but then those had been people his uncle had known a while. Harry was sure his uncle would warm up to Snuffles.

In a few moments, Snuffles had been given permission to come through the wards. The first thing he did upon bounding in was give Harry a huge lick on the cheek. Harry laughed even as his uncle let out a huge sigh. This was going to be loads of fun.

 

 

The first hint, outside of the gut feeling when he’d first laid eyes on Snuffles, was when Harry said, “No, Uncle Kingsy, I’ve already heard that story. Read me a different one!”

Except, Kingsley couldn’t recall having read _Barry Bortoff’s Adventures with Unicorns_ to Harry yet and his memory was usually fairly sharp. Indeed, since the book was barely a week old and he’d been looking forward to trying his hand at Vilma the banshee’s voice, he was positive he’d never read the story to Harry.

But then, perhaps Harry had read it on his own? Kingsley ignored the feeling that it was more than that and moved on.

The next hint was more a compilation, of all of the times Harry treated Snuffles like he could really understand what he was saying. Sure, that wasn’t too incriminating. Magical animals were often smart enough to understand more than just basic phrases and commands, but when Harry told him that he didn't need to talk about that awful _Daily Prophet_ article because he’d already done so with Snuffles… well Kingsley started to get worried.

It wasn’t just childish dreaming on Harry’s part either. Snuffles behaved outside the normal realm of even a magical familiar’s understanding with his environment. When Harry dropped something, Snuffles was often the first to reach over, pick it up gingerly between his teeth, and hand it back to the boy. It was Snuffles that came to get Kingsley when Harry was feeling ill and Snuffles that never had a problem opening the back door to let himself out to pee.

The hints compiled, one after another. The first few times Harry said something strange, Snuffles would give Kingsley a worried look, that gradually faded as Kingsley continued to do nothing.

And then _something_ changed. Kingsley wasn’t sure what, only that it had happened only a few months after they’d adopted Snuffles into their family. Harry went from treating Snuffles like a dog, albeit a very intelligent one, to treating him… well a bit like how he treated Kingsley.

When Harry broke the vase Kingsley’s grandmother had given him—before refusing to speak to him again for supporting his muggle father and not turning him away like she’d advised—the boy burst into tears a day later. Kingsley hadn’t explained to Harry what a priceless pureblood heirloom that had been, since he frankly didn’t care and it had been an honest accident, but Harry said Snuffles had told him how valuable it was and he was _so sorry_. It had taken him several hours to calm the boy down and when he’d glanced at Snuffles, the dog had actually looked panicked at the sight of Harry’s tears.

Several weeks later, when Kingsley was held back at work because of a double-murder case, he’d come home expecting to see Harry crashed out on the couch. Instead, he’d found Harry in his pajamas in bed. Judging by the wet hair, he’d even had a bath before bed—a notoriously difficult thing for Kingsley to convince him to do. The next morning, Harry told him that he’d been worried but Snuffles had explained that being an auror was a busy and important job and that he could only help by being a good boy.

It was Snuffles that Harry went to when he wanted to play, Snuffles that was talked to late into the night about Harry’s worries, Snuffles that wrestled in the mud with Harry and then nudged him to the bath after. It was as if Snuffles had suddenly become a second authority figure around the house, just as much as he was also rapidly becoming Harry’s best friend. Kingsley didn’t know what to think of the swirl of contradictory emotions that realization called up inside him.

Kingsley wasn’t stupid, nor was he unobservant. It was clear after only the first couple weeks of Snuffles living with them that the dog wasn’t a normal creature and by month three, Kingsley was sure that he was in fact an animagus and not some of the other possibilities he’d thought of. The question, of course, became who exactly Snuffles really was. What was his purpose in helping Kingsley with his sometimes too difficult task of being a single parent on top of an extremely taxing job? Was Snuffles trying to turn Harry away from Kingsley so he could take him for his own?

That didn’t sound quite right to Kingsley, for it was obvious by the times Snuffles laid at his feet by the fire that the _dog_ didn’t dislike him, even if he obvious favored Harry.

Truthfully, Kingsley wondered if Snuffles had realized that he knew, for the animagus wasn’t even trying to hide it much anymore. He’d stopped trying to act like a regular dog when Kingsley was in the room a month ago, but now he even went out of his way to help Kingsley like he’d been doing for Harry.

One night when he came back from a long day—having had to deal with a chase across Knockturn Alley, a magically-induced migraine, and a bout of _curio_ before his back-up had arrived—he collapsed on the armchair in the living room only to have Snuffles drag a blanket over his body and a Dreamless Sleep potion from the medicine cabinet.

“I suppose I should say good dog,” he murmured as he patted Snuffles once on the head. “You know, I’m fairly sure even magically-enhanced dogs can’t read, or tell that small color difference between Dreamless Sleep and Hangover Remover.”

Snuffles, well he just pressed a wet nose to the palm of Kingsley’s hand, his eyes dark and understanding, before laying down like a warm furnace at Kingsley’s feet.

And though he shouldn’t have, Kingsley slept far better that night than he had the past several.

So Kingsley continued to watch Snuffles, making note of all the animagus’ behavior, all the little quirks and the things Harry said he’d mentioned. He watched and waited, for he was sure that soon the picture growing in his mind would solidify and he’d know just who he was dealing with.

And then the _Daily Prophet_ reported the escape of mass murderer Sirius Black after a _four-fucking-month_ cover-up by the Minister in hopes that the ex-prisoner’s body would just turn up on the banks of the lake or something.

And suddenly, Kingsley knew exactly who he’d been hosting. And just as suddenly, he knew what he had to do about it.

 

 

Kingsley Shacklebolt, Sirius realized after just a few weeks of being _adopted_ into the family, was not just a good man and a good auror… he was also a damn good father. It was clear from the way he spoke to Harry, like the kid’s opinions really mattered to him. It was clear in the way he took care to always make a nice meal for dinner, even if it was obvious he was exhausted from work. It was clear in his smile, in his laugh, in the voices he used when he read Harry’s bedtime stories.

Kingsley was everything Sirius’s parents hadn’t been to him and Reggie, and though Sirius kept waiting for the icy-hot jealousy to roll through him… it never came. He knew for sure he wouldn’t have been nearly as a good a parent to Harry had he raised his godson like he was supposed to. He would have spoiled Harry, would have let him want for nothing, would have congratulated every prank Harry pulled. And while a part of him still thought that would have been fun, another more—he shuddered at the thought— _mature_ part of him knew it wouldn’t have done Harry any favors.

And Harry under Kingsley’s care was a mature, playful, adorable eight-year-old. So much so that Sirius found himself nudging Harry to, of all things, be a good boy for his caretaker. Because Kingsley deserved not having to worry about Harry brushing his teeth when he came home hours late, looking tired and worn and all the things Sirius remembered came with the glory of the auror position.

For four months, Sirius lived with Harry and Kingsley. He played with his godson and took care of small things around the house for Kingsley, sometimes even in his human form when he knew Kingsley would be out of the house. He gained weight, gained muscle, gained his sanity back with the peace of it all.

He grew complacent, knowing that while Kingsley had obviously realized _something_ about him, he hadn’t done anything yet and so Sirius was free for at least a little longer to watch his godson grow.

And then the paper had his prison photo plastered all over the front page, the article describing all about the scandal of the four month cover up and the speculations about where he could be.

Fudge would probably lose his job over it all, which was only a minor consolation to the look Kingsley now gave him.

Kingsley waited until Harry was outside flying, not likely to be back in for a couple hours, before pointing Sirius the dog to the basement, to the potion’s room that Harry wasn’t allowed in.

Sirius closed his eyes as Kingsley pointed his wand and said, “ _Homorphus_.”

He gritted his teeth against the forced change. He’d transformed a few times for Harry, because the kid had deserved to know the truth before the paper reported the popular lie. Of course, Harry hadn’t wanted to keep it a secret from Kingsley but Sirius had managed to get a pinky-swear out of him and it had worked—at least until now.

But then, Sirius never expected to be able to keep this wonderful, perfect life up. He knew the other shoe would drop.

“Sirius Black,” Kingsley stated with no surprise in his tone.

Sirius, still on the ground, folded his legs under him and bared his neck. He kept his eyes down and his posture loose. He wanted to give Kingsley no reason to take him away immediately.

There was a long moment of silence.

Sirius licked his lips, eyes still firmly on Kingsley’s boots. “Will you allow me to explain?”

“From the beginning.”

Sirius nodded and so he did. He started early, because though he’d interacted with Kingsley in the last war, it had never been very long or meaningful. So he explained his family, his desire to be anything but them, how he’d turned away from the Dark and embraced James Potter. How they’d taken in Pettigrew and Remus. How they’d become animagi. How he’d slowly fallen in love with his best friend. How determined he’d been to see James and the only girl he’d ever accept by his side live through the war. How he’d suggested using Pettigrew as the Secret Keeper. How they’d all been betrayed.

He explained his lack of trial, and the coldness, and the taunting. And finally he explained how he escaped, how he tracked them down, how he’d only wanted to look at Harry and see he was doing well before leaving to find Pettigrew. How he’d been accepted into the family and though Pettigrew was still out there… he’d realized his place was by his godson’s side and not out there tracking a lost rat.

“But it’s okay,” Sirius concluded, voice hoarse from all the talking, from the emotions of the memories. “Because I know that even if you turn me in and cart me back to that horrible place, at least Harry is growing up well with one of the most honorable men I’ve ever had the privilege to meet.”

Kingsley huffed, a soft and almost fond sound. He stepped closer and lifted Sirius’s face up with a single hand. Sirius met Kingsley’s eyes and let his Occulmency walls fall so that the auror could weigh the truth of his words.

After a moment of gentle but thorough searching, Kingsley broke the eye contact, and with it the mind reading. He didn’t let go of Sirius’s chin though and Sirius didn’t pull away. He’d trusted Kingsley to have his back in the last war, but after four months he now trusted Kingsley in a more complete way. He knew Kingsley wasn’t the type of man to make fun of his submissive posturing and that was relieving—because really, who’d have suspected playboy, prankster, pureblood Sirius Black at heart just wanted someone who could pull him back, praise him or punish him, but kindly and with love.

Well, James might have known. After all, James had been more than aware just how much Sirius had grown to be the opposite of everything his mother had wanted. And where Walburga had wanted a pureblood Lord, Sirius had gone through puberty with dreams of stepping back and letting someone else take charge.

“Your still just as pretty as you were,” Kingsley said finally, breaking Sirius’s train of thought.

Sirius frowned. “I spent seven years in hell. I doubt those marks will ever fade.”

“Yes,” Kingsley agreed, his thumb lightly touching the edge of Sirius’s mouth, doing away with the frown. “But your healthier now than four months ago and even with this,” he moved his hand to tug at Sirius’s shoulder length hair, “or maybe because of it… you’re still a very pretty man, Sirius Black.”

“And you’re still a handsome one, Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

Kingsley gave him an amused look, one that sent an unexpected burst of desire through Sirius. “I suppose if I’m going to lose my job for you, I might as well get complimented while I do it.”

Sirius gaped. “You­– what– I didn’t expect–”

“Sirius, while I’m upset that Harry obviously knew about _this_ before I did, I do believe you and I’m not the type of man to send an innocent back to prison.”

“But they’ll be looking for me.”

“They won’t find you here. I had goblins help me with the wards for this place, Sirius. If it can protect the Boy-Who-Lived, it can protect you.”

Sirius felt his vulnerability fall away, wonder and amazement and stunned hope coming over him. “You’ll let me stay?”

Kingsley smiled. “I could use the help around here.” He paused, looking Sirius over. Some sort of realization came over his face, though Sirius wasn’t sure exactly what that realization was. “Why don’t you go tell Harry what’s happened and I’ll make dinner.”

Sirius rubbed his eyes. “It can’t be that easy.”

“Well, no, I doubt it will be.” Kingsley passed him on the way out and ran a hand through his tangled black hair. “But we’ll make it work.”

Sirius relaxed, okay with trusting that, and headed out after Kingsley.

Harry, when Sirius came out and said that there were no more secrets, was ecstatic. He was less so when Kingsley reprimanded him for keeping it a secret despite Sirius’s words, but perked up when it became clear that his uncle wasn’t really that mad.

That night, when Sirius read Harry a bedtime story, he didn’t have to worry about listening for the Floo to transform back into his dog form. Kingsley was right there with him, doing the voices for the odder characters.

And then, like every other night for the past four months, Sirius slid into being Padfoot and curled up on the floor by Harry’s bed.

Kingsley looked at him for a moment, almost as if he was about to protest. Sirius tensed, waiting for it, but Kingsley just said his goodnights and left.

Sirius slept well that night.

 

 

Kingsley was soon glad for the real, human, extra help in caring for Harry. Work picked up as the country went into an uproar trying to find the escaped convict. Kingsley was constantly questioned as to Harry’s safety and he assured people—from the harried Fudge to the gently worried Dumbledore—again and again that Sirius Black would not be able to get through his wards and that Harry was quite aware that he had to be careful. It was sometimes hilarious, but most often simply tiring.

Three months after the cover up got out, Fudge was impeached and Amelia Bones found herself elected as Minister. Kingsley was glad for it, knowing Amelia to be a fair and honest woman. She pulled back on the search, putting only specialized tracking teams on it since Sirius Black hadn’t been sighted past rumors for the past seven months.

The let up gave Kingsley time to work on his personal project—the lack of trial for Sirius. His first step had been Dumbledore, but the man had been obtuse when he was subtly questioned and instead had turned the conversation back around to inquiring about Kingsley’s opinion of Sirius Black and his escape.

“Harry is upset, naturally, about having to stay inside the wards—but he is easily distracted with his flying and his lessons,” Kingsley answered honestly. Harry was even more upset because he knew there was actually no danger from Sirius, but then Sirius was enough to keep him occupied most days. The man was actually quite a good teacher when he put his mind to it and Kingsley had gladly handed over the lessons in astronomy—a Black family specialty—and arithmancy—a Sirius specialty.

“Perhaps I should come visit, to reassure Harry that we are doing all we can to find his parents’ betrayer.” Dumbledore plopped a lemon drop in his mouth, blue eyes twinkling.

Kingsley frowned. “To be honest, Headmaster, Harry doesn’t know you any better than the other Order members he’s met. He’s heard those reassurances from several authority figures now, he doesn’t need to hear it again. You will be a very important person for him, as you are with all the students, once he goes to Hogwarts, but frankly he doesn’t feel that now.”

“Ah, but surely you’ve informed him some of my place in the last war?”

“Harry doesn’t like me to talk about the last war and I don’t feel he needs to be hounded about it. You-Know-Who is gone and most of his Death Eaters rounded up.”

Something dark flashed over Dumbledore’s face. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he murmured. “I will come over tomorrow to see Harry,” he said without a question in his tone.

Kingsley internally sighed, wondering not for the first time why the man was so insistent on trying to maintain the same hierarchy that had run the Order of the Phoenix in wartime. They were at peace now and Dumbledore was not Kingsley’s boss. “I’m sorry, Headmaster, but that won’t do. I’ve revoked everyone’s rights to come in through my wards. Though I trust you and the other former members, it’s simple common sense that the fewer people allowed into the wards, the safer Harry will be. I will not let Harry’s safety be placed in the hands of a possible traitor, even if I doubt one still exists.”

“My boy, surely…”

“With all due respect, I am not your boy. Harry is safe and well, Headmaster, you will simply have to trust me on this.”

The air in Dumbledore’s office grew heavy. Kingsley strengthened his Occulmency walls to ward off the magical pressure around him.

“You should not forget who it was that gained you guardianship of Harry Potter,” Dumbledore stated. “Should you refuse to let me see him, I will be forced to assume that you are no longer a proper guardian for the boy and take him from your care.”

Kingsley stood, keeping his back straight and his hand on his wand. “Harry is my ward and has been for seven years, Dumbledore. You would not take him from me without a long legal battle and let me _assure_ you that you would lose.”

“I’m the Supreme Mugwump, boy, I can assure _you_ that I would not.”

“And should the council take my testimony, Harry’s testimony, and the testimony of all those who have seen Harry in my care and trust your biased word over it—then I would be forced to see the corruption of the British Ministry and take Harry to France, or perhaps to my extended relatives in Congo. I will make sure he will _never_ trust you, Headmaster, if you try to take him away. He is not just my ward, he is my son. Do not come between us.” He held up his hand, done with this entire conversation. “But if you let it go and trust my judgment, then you will have him at school in a few years, for I would be upset to deny Harry the right to Hogwarts.”

He strode out then before the headmaster could say anything more to upset him. Dumbledore was a good man, but an old one who’d seen too many wars. He was blind to the reality of their current situation—blind to the difference between war and peace, blind to the difference between wartime leadership and simply being the headmaster of Hogwarts. Kingsley and Sirius were going to do the best they could to prepare Harry for his fame, for his enemies, and for his future. Neither would let the boy be gullible to take the word of _anyone_ as law, including the esteemed headmaster.

Kingsley still seethed over the conversation by the time he made it home. Sirius took one look at him and sent Harry outside to play.

“Trouble at work?” Sirius asked, fetching him a shot glass and a bottle of firewhiskey.

“I just got out of a meeting with Dumbledore.”

Sirius scowled. “Infuriating man, even when he is in the right.”

“In this situation, he was most certainly not.” Kingsley shook his head. “I think I’m correct in knowing I have a better idea how to raise Harry than he does.”

“It’s not like he ever had children of his own.”

“Merlin knows it.” Kingsley downed the shot. “Thanks, that helped.”

Sirius gave him a wry grin. “Anytime.”

Kingsley looked at the pretty, pretty man for a moment. Sirius truly was gorgeous. Months of eating well and playing with Harry had restored his health. His shoulder-length hair was glossy, his skin a light tan from the time he spent outside with his godson, and his eyes a happy grey. He smiled frequently, helping to do away with the distressed lines on his face from his years in prison. He often wore the casual robes Kingsley had procured for him and sometimes the muggle clothes he’d risked buying in a nearby town. At the moment, he wore a light grey sweater and black pants, which just brought out his features and gave him a look of elegant beauty.

“I’m going to get you a trial,” Kingsley stated. “If not by Britain in the next year, then by the International Wizarding Community. You will be free, Sirius.”

Sirius took on that look he sometimes did whenever Kingsley talked about his long-term place at Harry’s side. “You don’t have to– I’m happy just being able to watch Harry grow.”

“He enjoys you being here.” Kingsley cleared his throat. “We both do.”

“I–” A light pink dusted Sirius’s cheeks.

Kingsley realized too late that he’d let too much of his feelings, his deep attraction, come through his words. “You don’t need to feel like your obligated to say or do anything about my… interest in you. You’re important to Harry and regardless of any personal feelings that will never change.”

“No, I, you mean… you’re not interested in me like that. It’s just… I mean I know what my reputation was so sex is– not that I– it’s been seven years–”

“Sirius,” Kingsley said, putting a command in his voice. Sirius shut up immediately. “I find you very attractive, as a person as well as your physical appearance. That doesn’t have to mean anything.”

He knew that had it been seven years before, Sirius would have responded to his statement with a laugh and some light flirting—but Sirius had been hurt in ways Kingsley couldn't really understand in Azkaban and he was more vulnerable now. Kingsley was an auror, he understood that he had a position of power here and that he had to be careful as to not make Sirius feel that he had to return his attraction or be turned into the Ministry.

Sirius looked at him with wide eyes. Kingsley didn’t try to decipher the quick flashes of emotion he was going through, at least until Sirius bolstered himself—ever the Gryffindor even now—and walked up to him. “I’m not… whole,” he said. “And maybe I’m not totally sane anymore, but you’re a good man and the type of man I maybe—maybe someone like I dreamed about when I was younger.”

“Sirius.”

“It’s just, when I think about my future I don’t care about being free so long as you and Harry are in it. I see myself standing by your side, Kingsley, raising Harry as best we can. And if… if you want that then I’ll be yours.”

Kingsley reached forward and Sirius folded into his arms. He stroked Sirius’s head, wondering how he’d gone from being mad at Dumbledore to having the pleasure of holding this strong, gorgeous man. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured. “Together, we’ll build a happy future for ourselves and Harry. How does that sound?”

“It sounds perfect,” Sirius whispered. “Absolutely perfect.”

Kingsley lifted Sirius’s head up with a hand on his cheek and gently kissed Sirius over the mouth. Sirius kissed back, his touches wondering and hopeful and Kingsley wanted nothing more than to see that happiness in his eyes stay for a long, long time.

“What are you doing?”

They pulled apart to smile at Harry. His hair was windswept and his cheeks were rosy, but his eyes were curious.

“We were kissing,” Kingsley said.

Harry tilted his head to the side. “You mean, like married people do?”

“Well, we’re not married,” Sirius said, a blush still prominent on his cheeks. “But your uncle and I care about each other very much so that’s okay.”

“Oh.” Harry scrunched up his nose. “Does that mean your going to be sleeping in Uncle Kingsy’s room from now on?”

Sirius gave him a wide-eyed look and Kingsley chuckled. “When he wants to,” he said.

Harry shrugged. “Okay.” He headed toward the kitchen shouting, “I’m hungry! What’s for dinner?” over his shoulder.

Sirius laughed and Kingsley shook his head. “Come on, let’s go feed our child.”

When Sirius slipped his hand into Kingsley’s as they followed Harry, Kingsley just entwined their fingers and began to plan the night’s meal.

 

 

Harry made friends with Neville Longbottom on the train, starting with the line, “My uncles said your parents were heroes. It’s really nice to meet their son.”

A bushy-haired girl also sitting in the compartment with Neville stared at him for a moment. “I didn’t read anything about the Longbottoms in _Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord_.”

Harry frowned at her. “That’s because that book is bollocks. All it really talks about is Dumbledore, my parents, the false account of their betrayal, and me. It doesn’t say anything about the Order of the Phoenix and the smaller raids and the politics stuff that happened.”

Neville nodded. “My gran says my parents were part of the Order. It was a big secret at the time but she gets so mad they didn’t get the recognition they deserved after the war ended.”

Harry smiled. “But anyway, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Harry Potter.”

“I’m Hermione Granger.” She clutched her large textbook, _Hogwarts, A History_ , to her chest. “I’ve read all about you, but um, I guess you know that?”

“Most of the stuff in books is totally wrong. My Uncle Snuffles, uh, Sirius Black, he was my parents’ best mate so he knows the real story. Most of the people who wrote the books didn’t even bother to interview everyone, they just took the gossip and made it fact.”

“Really?”

Harry nodded. “I can tell you all about it sometime, if you want, but it’s not a happy story.”

“I want to learn.” Hermione suddenly looked embarrassed. “I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“I want to hear about it too,” Neville said. “My gran won’t tell me much, but… but I want to know what my parents did, and everyone else.”

“Sure,” Harry said easily. “Hey, you could even come to my house for a week during the winter hols and hear the story from my uncles. They were both part of the Order after all.”

Hermione gaped. “You can’t do that! You don’t even know us. Or me, at least. You can’t just invite us home already, can you?”

“Doesn’t matter. I can already tell we’ll be good friends. Okay?”

Neville blushed and nodded and after a moment Hermione did too.

A few minutes later, Neville realized his toad, Trevor, was missing and they worked together to scour the train for him. During the search, Harry met Draco Malfoy and the other children of Death Eaters. He made sure to be polite and proper, as his Uncle Kingsy had suggested. He didn’t need to be making enemies, even if his Uncle Snuffles had wanted him to prank them.

Later, he met Ron Weasley, whom he included in the conversation with Neville and Hermione about the Order. He also waved to Susan Bones, the niece of the Minister he’d had a couple playdates with while his Uncle Kingsy had talked to Amelia Bones about getting a real trial for Uncle Snuffles.

At Hogwarts, he found himself sorted in Gryffindor with his three new friends, but he made sure to pair up with Draco Malfoy in Potions class because he knew all about how cruel House rivalries could get from his Uncle Snuffles’ stories and he, agreeing with his Uncle Kingsy, thought that was stupid..

By the end of the first week, he was friendly with Draco and Theo and amiable with Blaise and Pansy. He regularly paired up with Susan in Herbology and Sue Li in Transfiguration. He sat in on the study sessions Hermione and some of the Ravenclaws had set up and talked Quidditch with Ron in return for the boy not making fun of the more studious of their friends. Best of all, as he spent late nights talking with Neville about their parents and then later about all their fears and expectations, he found in the shy boy a best friend.

On Saturday, Dumbledore sent him a letter requesting a meeting in his office. Harry took the letter to his Head of House, who was quite aware of the restraining order his uncles had filed against Dumbledore for him after the fiasco in which the man kidnapped him a few years ago—unfortunately Dumbledore’s social clout had been enough for him to play the kidnapping off as a misunderstanding, which had kept him his job as Headmaster, though just one more strike would give the Governors a chance to kick him out of the school.

After sending the letter into the Ministry for perusal by the Auror Department, Harry took out a quill and parchment and began to write home.

_Dear Uncle Kingsy and Snuffles,_

_I’ve made a lot of new friends at Hogwarts already…_


End file.
